


No Matter What

by Dickbutt



Series: Dickbutt Writes Again [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Confessions, Gender Neutral, Implied Sexual Content, Misunderstandings, Other, Transformation Related Angst, Werewolf Jesse McCree, secret keeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8736676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dickbutt/pseuds/Dickbutt
Summary: Jesse was avoiding you.This, of course, led you to jump to the worst of conclusions.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Original Request: Can I get a continuation of that werewolf McCree Drabble you did? I loved it so much! Maybe something set earlier in their relationship? Idk. I just love some werewolf McCree, and werewolves in general.
> 
> As requested, is a companion/prequel to [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8736622) and takes place earlier in time. 
> 
> Originally posted at: [Dickbutt Writes Again](http://dickbutt-writes-again.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

Jesse was avoiding you.

It didn’t matter what excuses he – or anyone else for that matter – had been giving you in prior days, you could see right through them. But it hurt more than it was frustrating (and it was _very_ frustrating); he had been avoidant, skittish, even, short tempered, over the last period of time you’d seen him. And then two nights ago, he up and seemed to vanish – did not appear in your quarters, or _his_ quarters, or anywhere he usually frequented around the base. Like he was a ghost.

This, of course, led you to jump to the worst of conclusions.

_He’s breaking up with me. He already broke up with me and I’m literally the last one to find out. He’s hurt. He got hurt on a covert op. He went missing on that covert op and they think he’s hurt. He’s dying. He’s dead and nobody knows how to tell me. He’s dead and he broke up with me and they hope I’ll never find out._

However, the more reasonable part of you knew you were being completely irrational. Your team wouldn’t withhold dire information from you, especially of a personal nature. Maybe… maybe it was something good, like a surprise?

…

 _No_ , it was _never_ anything good when people were being this dodgy. You had to think realistically.

You had to get to the bottom of this.

Tracer had always been a shitty liar, Lúcio too, so you went after the weak links first. But they seemed to anticipate the nearing confrontation, and became near as scarce as McCree himself. Your strategy would need some rethinking; you’d go for the nicer ones next, hope they’d take pity on you and just give you the information you needed, in spite of their prior avoidance.

Mei – pun not intended – froze up at your questioning, and immediately gave some excuse that Winston needed her in his lab, which crossed him off your list as well, knowing that the climatologist would warn him of you making rounds. Reinhardt, you almost, _almost_ , got to crack, but he was able to find an out before you could finish him off. The majority of the team fell in similarly, to your frustration.

Mercy, when you found her in her office, did not try to escape, but simply graced you with a sad sort of expression when you asked upon McCree’s whereabouts, which was at least something different than the skittish and fearful ones you’d been receiving all afternoon. But she schooled her face into impassivity, and shook her head.

“This is a confidential matter, I can’t give you that information. But I can assure you that he’s fine!”

It wasn’t particularly reassuring, regardless of her intent. Was he sick? Was he hurt? Was he there in the medbay behind her office, just feet away and you were turned away from seeing him? There was no point in dwelling; Mercy had ushered you out of her office after a failed attempt at small talk, insistent in the idea that she had a lot of important paperwork to do.

You wandered the base in search of anyone else who would be _kind_ enough to give you the answers you sought, all while fighting a gnawing worry in your gut that only worsened over time. After a point you contemplated asking Bastion, but as friendly and good-intentioned as the Omnic was, his speech remained an enigma.

You were running out of options.

Exhausted and demoralized, you went to the base’s kitchen and flopped down at the counter, head in your arms. Ana, who had already been sitting there, peered at you curiously as she steeped her tea.

“Rough day?”

“… _Bullshit-ass runaround dodgy bastards not givin’ me a straight answer if he’s dead I’ll be so pissed_ …”

She peered curiously at you as you continued mumbling curses into your folded arms. “…I will take this as a yes.”

You turned your head over, still pillowed on your arms, to gaze at the older woman.

“Going out on a limb here, but… do you… know where McCree is?”

She stirred her tea quietly, pointedly not looking at you.

“…He asked us not to tell you.”

You look over at her, stricken, trapped somewhere between hurt and disbelieving; she continued to avoid your eyes.

“Ana, I just want the _truth_. Where is he? What the hell is going on?”

Her eye regarded you, then softened, and she sighed, taking a sip of her tea.

“In the cell blocks, beneath the base. You can’t miss him.”

Your jaw clenched at her words, but a great wave of anxiety rushed from your bones. You thanked her quietly, genuinely, glad that someone was finally straightforward with you. But as you made your way down, you thought of Mercy’s words, _A confidential matter_ , and you unintentionally slowed your descent. Something _was_ wrong with McCree, but… why wouldn’t anyone tell you?

Maybe nobody else knew either.

The cell blocks were quiet, but not unkempt despite their seeming disuse. Overwatch hadn’t had a lot of reason to use them, even in its heyday, so their number was few. As you crossed the threshold, a soft electronic voice greeted you.

“You shouldn’t be down here, Agent,” Athena warned.

“Yeah, well, friends shouldn’t keep secrets,” you muttered, glancing at unlocked doors as you passed, footsteps echoing on metal in the stillness.

“Agent McCree has advised he be left alone at this time.”

 _So he’s definitely down here,_ you thought. Leave it to an AI to be honest.

“And we’re a pair, so where he goes, I go.”

At the end of the hall stood a windowless cell, a red light indicating its locked, occupied state glowed above the door. Your hands drifted to the keypad beside it, entered your authorization code, which to your dismay, was automatically rejected. You then entered Soldier’s, which you may have obtained through less-than-honest means, but it was also rejected; you entered McCree’s own to the same result. You glared up toward the ceiling at your invisible roadblock.

“Athena, let me in.”

“I cannot do that, Agent.”

“So help me I _will_ start yanking pieces out and hotwire my way in if you don’t unlock the damn door.”

There were several seconds of tense silence, your hands tightening into fists, before you heard a small sound of confirmation, and the light above the door went green.

“Very well. But you have been warned, and I will continue to monitor your activities should anything happen.”

You rolled your eyes, but offered thanks regardless, glad the AI was able to see reason. You took a deep breath, in through your nose, out through your mouth, and braced yourself for whatever state you were about to see him in. At your touch, the door slid open.

The thing turned its head immediately at the sound of the door, pinning you with wide orange eyes, that widen when they take in your form. It turned its body toward you faster than it should have been able to for its size, massive and dark-furred, ears pressed flat to a large head, with a long muzzle filled with sharp teeth. A thing straight out of a horror movie. Your brain locked up, but your body went into overdrive, shaking and tripping over yourself.

“Jesus, **_shit_**!”

You stumbled backwards, out of the cell, which slammed shut behind you, locked, no doubt from Athena’s interference. You sat on the floor in the hall, heart racing, your mind unable to put all the pieces together without immediately setting alarms off at the conclusion _that thing is Jesse, that **thing** is _**Jesse.** Your hands shook, palms sweaty, but you forced yourself to stand, leaning against the wall for support as you tried to prepare yourself for a second attempt.

“My sensors indicate a severe spike in your vitals. Are you alright, Agent?”

“Let me back in.”

“…Are you certain?”

“ _Let me back in, Athena._ ”

Light green, you forced yourself through the door again, stood tall against the hulking beast that now huddled in the corner of the cell, covering its face with one clawed hand; the other limb ended in a stump just above where the elbow would be. It was all the confirmation you needed. A soft, persistent whine filled the small room and you took a hesitant step toward it – _him_ – palms open and outstretched.

“Jesse? …shit. Jesse, it _is_ you, isn’t it?”

As you neared, he only pressed himself further into the corner, hind legs scrabbling for purchase as though he’d be able to escape you if he just tried hard enough. Instead of physically cornering him, you took a moment to take stock of the cell he’d been left in – or that he _chose_ to be in. It was bare but for a shelf containing several familiar articles, including his iconic hat, and a blanket spread on the floor that had gone missing from your room weeks ago.

You maintained distance, sat in the center of the floor, and watched him, unmoving.

You weren’t sure how long it took for him to uncurl himself from the wall, to actually look you in the eye. He maintained a hunched posture, looking like a kicked dog, which was all-too-apt given his shaggy appearance. You watched each other carefully, gauging reaction and hoping that no sudden moves would be made.

“Jesse.”

He eyed you warily, and gave a loud huff through his nose, his ears still pressed tight to his skull. You extended a hand to him, palm open again, beckoning. Slowly, he approached, hobbled on three limbs, until your fingers carded into coarse, thick fur, scratching circles into the side of his face. He leaned into the touch and you sighed, cupping your hand under his jaw.

“Holy shit… what is this, Jesse?”

He whined again and you realized; of course he wouldn’t be able to answer you. But regardless, you found yourself calmer, like just his presence was enough to ease your prior worry, even if he did smell like a weird dog now. You stood, holding your hands beneath his chin to get him to look at you, which he did somewhat reluctantly.

“Okay, so, I have no idea what’s going on,” you spoke, shakily, still trying to reconcile the beast before you with the man you loved. _Loved_. “But.. I’m here, for as long as you need me, whatever you need me for.”

You had his full attention, and with a soft sound, you put your forehead on his muzzle between his bright eyes.

“And I love you, no matter what shape you’re in. …Always was a dog person, anyway.”

McCree pressed back with his face, almost knocking you to the floor and you couldn’t help the smile. You led him back to your purloined blanket, to wait out whatever he was going through (assuming it _could_ be waited out). He curled up against you, head in your lap, arm around your waist, as you dragged your fingers through his fur, across his face and neck. He sighed in contentment; you could’ve sworn you saw a little bit of tail wagging, but as if you’d call him out on that.

You hardly noticed as the time passed, that the head you caressed with gentle strokes became gradually less lupine, the texture becoming more hair than fur; it wasn’t until the weight receded and you felt a decidedly human pair of lips against your shoulder that you realized McCree was back to normal.

…Whatever ‘normal’ meant, anymore.

Your hand stilled, slipping to rest on his shoulder, but he remained in much the same spot, and you’d have thought he was asleep, but for the way his entire body tensed when you said his name. He clutched you in a one-armed grasp, tight and fond, but you both knew you couldn’t remain like that, and would have to face the impending conversation like adults. He reluctantly pulled away from you, and made a single fleeting glance at your face before he leaned against the wall beside you. Both of you stared at the opposite wall, quietly wondering who’d break the impasse first.

You cleared your throat.

“How long?”

“…After Deadlock,” came his rasping voice. You could hear him swallow. “But… before everything went south with Overwatch. Couldn’t tell ya the year. Leaves the memory… fuzzy, y’know?”

You wanted to make a pun at his choice of words, to keep the mood light, but your nerves strangled it in your throat. You managed a quiet cough.

“Do… um, how many others know?”

“Most a’ the old team. Angela n’ Jack were the ones suggested I quarantine m’self. …Can’t say it doesn’ help.”

You sighed through your nose, crossing your arms over your chest as you avoided eye contact. A sliver of hurt bubbled up into your chest.

“…You could’ve told me, Jesse.”

He reached for you but drew back at the last second, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you.

“I-I wanted to, was goin’ to, I _swear_ but… I just…” He ran a hand through his hair, then again, rougher, with a frustrated sigh, eyes still trained on the floor. “I wanted it to happen on _my_ terms, not like… “

You moved closer, shuffling sideways until your shoulder pressed into his. Fought down the desire to hold his hand, especially since you were on the side of his missing arm, his prosthetic still on the shelf on the other side of the room. He gripped his hair again, shied away from your touch. You jumped when his fist slammed into the wall and he retreated for the corner again.

“Damn it! Y’shouldn’t’ve come down here…”

You knew he was upset, could tell his moods as easily as your own, and you had to defuse him somehow.

“I meant what I said earlier, y’know.”

He looked up at this, his sudden anger brought to a simmer, and you flushed. It was a lot easier to be brave when the other party couldn’t use words to embarrass you.

“ _Y’know_. The part with the… where I said I… loved you and you couldn’t really answer, because you were a dog.”

“Wolf.”

“Wolf. Right,” you amended, not quite able to look at him directly.

“…Say it again?”

You gave him a confused look, brow arched. “What. ‘Wolf?’”

His chuckle was more a quiet huff of breath, less the boisterous sound you’d come to adore. “No, the other part.”

“Oh.” Your insides squirmed. “…I love you?”

He’d slid over to you again, and you allowed him to sling his arm around your shoulders to draw you close, his forehead touching yours. He pressed against you, and your noses brushed. You enjoyed the sight of his smile from close up.

“Even if I’m like this?”

“Even so, fleas and all.”

He nudged your head with his playfully, tone taking on mock offense. “Oh c’mon darlin’, I ain’t got fleas.”

“Then I love you even if you don’t have fleas.”

At last, his laugh came through bright and clear, warming the room – warming you from the inside out.

“Well, with a sentiment like that, a man can’t help but be inclined to return the favor.” Finally, his mouth slides against yours, and you smile into the kiss, feeling him return the expression with each second you spend pressed together. “I love you too, darlin’.”

He kissed you again, suddenly, startling you to the floor, and you laughed, faux fighting him as he went for every inch of your exposed face and neck. You shove at him when he gets a little too playful, your face growing dark with embarrassment.

“ _Jesse-e-e!_ Go put your clothes on!”

He kissed you on your pulse, a playful expression evident across his features. “Why don’t you take yours off?”

“Oh my god you can’t be serious!”

“C’mon, darlin’, indulge me~” he crooned, nuzzling into you. “Ain’t seen you in days and you’re just gonna leave me out in the cold?”

“ _Here_? Really!?”

But you couldn’t help but give in to his pleading, and in the unlikely event that anyone had ventured down to the cell block, they would faintly hear your laughter past the red locked door.


End file.
